It’s dark and we’re walking back to the hotel. A man walks past and we notice that a small wooden brush falls onto the road behind him. We both don’t hesitate to call out after him about his dropped brush. Captain picks up the brush and hands it to the man who thanks us. I love these simple small acts of unheroic kindness – a fleeting moment when someone instinctively helps out a stranger. (On the tube in Tokyo I would go out of my way to try and find someone older than me to offer my seat to!)
He offers us a shoe shine – which we presume is a gesture of gratitude. We both say no thanks but he crouches on the floor with the shoe shine block in front of him and insists. We politely refuse again but, so as not to appear rude, Captain offers up a shoe. He haphazardly brushes and gives it a quick greasing. It’s a quick ineffective shoe polish. I can remember thinking how sweet that we helped him and, in return, he’s showing us his thanks in the only way he can. “One good turn deserves another.”
He offers to clean mine. I refuse several times as my shoes are made from mesh and polishing would be ineffectual. He insists nonetheless and so, giggling like a child, I offer my foot. It’s then when he asks us about children (as most people we have met on our travels do) and we return the question. He says he has five but the youngest has trouble with her eyes so he’s just been to the hospital. He talks about the need to work hard to make money to pay for the vast hospital bills. I suspect most of you, by now, would have thought something’s up. We didn’t! I can even remember thinking that someone at his age having a child increases the likelihood of disabilities. Poor guy shining shoes for a pittance to support his family.
Just as he is finishing he mentions that if we have a couple of Lira he would really appreciate it. I feel in my coat pocket where I keep my loose change and pull out about 5 Lira. I cup the change in my hand. Now this is when the atmosphere suddenly changes. With an altered demeanour he demands 18L. He points at both of us, and in an aggresive raised voice, repeats his demand stating that two sets of shoes cost 9L each and we must pay him. I reluctantly pull out a 20L note and hand it to him. We walk off. Yes we were annoyed at ourselves for paying him 20L. Yes we should have just carried on after the initial “You dropped your brush” moment. Yes we felt foolish and silly…… but we walked off, arm in arm, laughing at our own naivety.
It was only back at the hotel that Captain wondered if the man had dropped the brush on purpose as a way to initiate the scam? No way I replied – seriously? Captain did a google search – ‘Istanbul shoe shine scam.’ Let’s just say there was no shortage of results that came up. Pages and pages of shoe shiner scams and other more elaborate scams – even a YouTube video. OMG! The little *#^* – he dropped the brush on purpose!
Now, it’s one thing ripping an unsuspected tourist off by charging too much but it’s quite another preying on an act of kindness to initiate a scam. From feeling rather foolish and silly I now feel angry and used.
I suppose the act of tricking someone, like a magic show, plays on pulling the wool over their eyes. A good trick relies on confusing the five senses; while the best ones expertly tease our cerebral functions. This was no magic trick; this was a dirty rotten scam that punched right at the heart. It crossed the line by taking an act of kindness and subverting and twisting it into a gnarled ugly knot.
Old man if we see you, or your ilk, again….. that brush lying on the road is going flying.
Recent Comments